Two people today: I The

Two people today:

The woman with the kitten in her coat needed attention. Constantly talking, she called her boyfriend “daddy” over and over. “I’ve got a chill, Daddy, and I’m afraid I’ll give it to you.” “If you tell the bus driver where you’re going, Daddy, he’ll help you.” “Daddy, If you don’t come back I’ll call the jail.” Pale and bony, her bulging eyes darted. When she ran out of words, she sang quietly. “Daddy, can I have the CD player?” Exasperated, he asked if she were going to sing with the music. “No.” She laughed. “Yes, but I’ll only sing to myself.”

The cute girl ahead of me pulled her right leg down from the ATM. I noticed there was nothing coming out of the sleeves of her white t-shirt. I tried not to stare, but it was fascinating to watch her work the machine. Punching the numbers with her great toe, the panel keys with her little. Talking to friends, she used her right foot as if it were her one arm–completing each task in turn. Pulling the bills to the floor, she nabbed one $20 and stuffed it in her purse. The second one she curled around her tanned toes as she replaced her slip-on sandal.

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